A Collection of Drabbles
by anthrop
Summary: A challange found on dA to write ten drabbles to ten songs. Various pairings. Chapter four: Edgar/Devi.
1. PepitoTodd

Holy crap I can't believe I'm doing this. 'Kay, this is a shuffle/drabble challenge I decided to do after seeing themagician666's attempts at it over on dA, with fun Mello/Matt action from Death Note. My turn now, but with Pepito and Todd from the horrible works of Jhonen Vasquez!

* * *

Rules

1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.

2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.

3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!

4. Do ten of these, then post them.

* * *

Drabble One: Sadly Beautiful – The Replacements - 3:16 (Oh fuck.)

Their friendship had lasted an eternity, and still it seemed to Pepito as if they had scarcely known each other at all. Such a short time, really.

He could remember soft brown hair, and shining, naïve eyes that still knew entirely too much. Little scars, a thousand white lines criscrossing across sun kissed skin. So many details. So many memories.

All gone in an instant.

(JESUS CHRIST THIS IS FUCKING HARD. DX)

* * *

Drabble Two: Porch – Pearl Jam - 3:30 (Um...)

He ran like fuck and still it wasn't enough. Fire and brimstone, the end of the world. A dream, right? A dream. He punched himself in the face hard enough to bruise and still he stayed asleep.

So shit.

The whole city had been wiped out in less than a day. The dead had lain everywhere, until they all decided to get up again. Great. Zombies. Just great.

Oh sure, he sounded resentful, he should have been _pissed. _But he wasn't. In truth... well, maybe he liked it. Maybe today was the day he admitted the truth to himself. That he knew what Pepito meant about it all, about all of them, the stupid humans.

But then again, he never ran very fast, did he.

(WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT OH GOD)

* * *

(Skipped Dane Cook, 'cause no way in fuck am I drabbling to Comedy Central.)

* * *

Drabble Three: You Make Me Smile – Blue October – 4:27 (Ahaha who's the chick that's what I'd like to know.)

They touched at last, carefully, briefly, trembling fingerprints left on the very edge of skin.

That had been the first time, nervous and awkward, silly. Now every touch was easy, every conversation natural. There were no tremors, there was no terror. They were friends. More than that.

They were best friends.

Or so Pepito liked to think. If he was honest with himself, it was all manipulation. Todd like him a fair bit, but Pepito exaggerated it with every touch. When their sweat mingled Todd became his a little bit more. No, Todd would never sell his soul, but he _gave_ it easily. It was like sipping innocence, if he could sound cliché a moment.

Todd was a sweet boy who had a lot of terrible things happen to him. Pepito knew he only exacerbated the human's traumas. If he was honest, Todd's life would be much better without him in it at all.

But he was selfish. He couldn't help it.

Nothing else, no one else, could make him smile like Todd could.

(Aw, nobody died in this one!)

* * *

Drabble Four: One X – Three Days Grace – 4:46 (This'll be interesting.)

Pepito idly wondered, years later in the midst of the War, if Todd ever regretted his decisions. If he had only done what he had done out of fear, or out of debt, or out of, perhaps, love.

Whatever the reasons, Todd stayed, and did more than that. They fought side by side against the opposition, be it human, heavenly, or paranormal. Making a new world order was much more difficult than he had ever planned.

And when either of them was wounded in battle, the other knew, instantly. Like magic, like telepathy, like love. They were one.

And because they were one, Pepito knew that Todd stayed, yes, but he resented the fuck out of it. There were affections, there was sex, there was friendship, but there was resentment.

But Todd acted as if it didn't exist. They were one in this fight. No one else could withstand the opposition like Todd, no one else would take a stand and fucking win.

But there was resentment nonetheless.

(I went in circles in that one. WOO.)

* * *

Drabble Five: I Have a Need – Black Light Burns – 4:24 (AW GAWD.)

Todd, in later years, went out of his way to be terrified. He knew it, knew he had an addiction to fear, and didn't care. He loved the feel of it ripping through his insides, and would keep scaring himself even if it dug him into his grave even faster.

Pepito worried about him, he knew, but Pepito was on Earth, and Todd was several thousand lightyears away living the nightmare and loving every second of it. It burned through him like a black fever, eating through what may or may not have been his soul, and though it probably damaged him exponentially, he couldn't stop.

Fear made him feel alive even as it killed him.

One day he would go home and see those red eyes staring at him, and he knew what he would see inside, reflected. Fear. Pepito would be afraid of him. And didn't he deserve it?

The tables would be turned, and Todd would love every second of it.

(Wow. What the fuck.)

* * *

Drabble Six: Is It Real? - The Seatbelts – 4:39 (OH GOD NUUUUUUU)

The Defective Head Mean Institute was a nice place, once you got used to it all. And if you acted crazy enough but still did what they wanted, you got what you wanted. Privacy. Soft padded walls to dream on.

No one visited him, and he liked it that way. He'd seen enough of people, and just wanted to sleep, to dream and not be woken violently by aliens, explosions, or even the Antichrist.

Pepito...

No, no. What was he thinking? That's right. He didn't want to think. He wanted to sleep, to dream without words.

He dreamt of the sky, but he fell to the burning ground.

He dreamt of the future, but machines chewed him up and spit him out.

He dreamt of pretty statures that came to life and chopped him to pieces.

Shit, this wasn't what he wanted.

He wanted incoherency, he wanted madness, he wanted lucidity, he wanted to be crazy and alone. But he couldn't.

He just couldn't do it.

He opened his eyes and saw that someone was looking in through the tiny window in his door. Red eyes in a sickly face.

"Pepito?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been there?"

"For as long as it took."

(Wut.)

* * *

Drabble Seven: Boytronic-Living Without You – VNV Nation – 6:36 (There weren't any words until like 2:30 argh)

He didn't like that he liked it. But he liked it, and they both liked it, and they did it from dusk until dawn. When the pale morning light struck through the window they stopped immediately, as if afraid the sun's face would reflect their actions out across the world.

They were ashamed. But they did it anyway.

Pounding music drowned out any sounds that could escape them, humming through the walls, curling in soft vibrations through the mattress springs. Soft creaking, slow then fast then slow again. Their minds filled with the wonders of the world, natural and manmade. All the power of the oceans thrummed between them, the magnitude of the strongest earthquake, the frenzy of the wildest thunderstorm, the suffocating weight of snow.

They were ashamed. But they did it anyway.

So soft. Skin breathing against skin.

Pillows.

Touch.

Shame.

(WHAT)

* * *

Drabble Eight: Told You So – Barenaked Ladies – 4:21 (Hi I like hick music sometimes.)

Todd didn't know how to swim. Pepito was aghast and immediately dragged him to the nearest public pool and threw him in.

Literally.

That was the best way to learn after all.

However, when the boy didn't come up for air after five minutes of flailing like a seizing puppy and then suddenly sank, Pepito became slightly worried. But he didn't jump in. He couldn't. That wasn't how one learned how to swim. One fought to the surface or died trying.

That was how Father had taught him, and Pepito was a fantastic swimmer.

Another five minutes passed. There were too many wriggling human bodies blocking his view. Pepito couldn't see how Todd was faring. He became more than worried. But he didn't follow after.

Half an hour passed.

Pepito was frantic. But now he'd paralyzed himself. He couldn't go in at all.

"A-amigo?" Softly, then louder, piercing across the thrashing and the screaming and the laughter.

"Behind you."

And Todd pushed him in, soaking wet and grinning.

(I don't understand.)

* * *

(Skipped a classical song, 'cause I refuse to be that abstract.)

(Skipped a VNV Nation song 'cause it likewise has no lyrics.)

* * *

Drabble Nine: What If – Plain White T's – 2:51 (Hiiiiiick music.)

Sometimes Pepito realized everything about him was a lie. His face, his clothes, his personality, his life, all of it forged for maximum popularity. It made him sick.

Only Todd knew the real him, the mismatched eyes and the spidery hair and the teeth and the love of cheap, old movies. Todd loved him for all of his realness, when he let it show, at home, under the covers, with all the lights off. At school, in public, anywhere else, he was some popular kid with the nice family and the perfect hair and the great smile and the good grades.

And Todd was some loser in shabby clothes, too weird, too smart, too fucking crazy.

No one believed either of them when they spoke the truth about the other.

(HUH)

* * *

Drabble Ten: Down – The Dambuilders – 5:15 (If you've heard of this band than holy shit HAVE MY BABIES.)

The fire was warm, and struck bright motes of light high into the night sky with every pop and sizzle. The air smelled of burning pine and a faint whiff of sulfer.

Todd had no idea where he was, but he didn't really care. Not yet. He would, once his brain caught up with the whole "being conscious" thing. Until then, he just let himself shiver and sweat beneath what felt to be like five sleeping blankets. The fire burned streams of light across the insides of his eyelids.

"You awake?"

Pepito? Yes, that was Pepito's voice.

"Mmrghtikitikatik?"

Apparently he couldn't talk just yet. His teeth chattered too much.

"You fell through the ice. I managed to get you out quickly enough, though you shouldn't move much yet."

Ice? Ice? What were they doing, camping?

He rolled over, looked up high into the stars. Prickly black and green broke the constellations, but the view still gave him vertigo. A sensation of flying backwards, a loop-de-loop, and his stomach lurched spectacularly.

Well that's what you got for trying to walk on ice, he supposed.

* * *

A/N: That was fun. SO MUCH FUN. Everyone should do this. And you feel great 'cause you crank 'em out so fast!


	2. JohnnyEdgar

Thought I'd try my hand at Johnny/Edgar drabbles. Never mind it's midnight or anything. No, of course not. Let's just see how this goes...

* * *

Rules

1. Pick out a character, pairing, or fandom you like.

2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.

3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!

4. Do ten of these, and then post them.

* * *

**Drabble One: Road Trippin' – Red Hot Chilli Peppers – 3:25** (Oh dear...)

"We're lost, aren't we."

"Shut up!"

"Face it, Nny. You have _no_ idea where we are."

'Yeah, but you don't have to rub it in my face!"

Johnny adjusted his rear view mirror, wincing as sunset light reflected into his eyes. He caught a glimpse of Edgar in the backseat, tightly bound but the gag loosened. A week-old bruise marred the left half of his face, one lens of his glasses badly cracked.

"Where are you trying to go anyway?"

"Anywhere but home."

"So we're not lost."

"Ye—what?"

"Never mind." Pause. "How about these ropes then?"

"Not a chance, Edgar."

"I thought so."

He smiled wearily and closed his eyes.

(...YES.)

* * *

**Drabble Two: Rain – The Seatbelts – 3:23** (They were in the last one too...)

Dying didn't hurt too much, Edgar thought idly. Not _too_ much.

But it still wasn't something he particularly enjoyed.

It was funny. He was so invisible even Heaven didn't realize he existed, and Hell had no use for somebody as useless as him. So he was stuck, perpetually reincarnating, over and over and over, just to be killed by Johnny C., a.k.a. Nny.

Also known as his bestest bestest friend.

Now _that_ was a laugh.

Than again, it wasn't like he could really complain, could he?

Rain caught on the smooth surface of his glasses, cold and smoky. He pondered taking them off to wipe them, but decided not to bother. He was going to die right about...

Ah yes. Now.

(Um...I blame Douglas Adams' i_Life, the Universe, and Everything/i_!)

* * *

**Drabble Three: Fuck Off Song – Reel Big Fish – 3:25** (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA)

Johnny walked through the downtown area sullenly. He knew Edgar was following him again. Edgar was far from subtle.

He just didn't know _why._

Finally he couldn't take it anymore. He whirled around, flailing his hands, and firmly asked Edgar to fuck off.

Edgar merely laughed and waved at him to go on.

Johnny stared, tried the whole "Get the fuck away from me, Edgar" deal again plus a rather nasty looking steel implement a few centimeters from the man's jugular, and only managed to illicit a second, almost _jaunty_ laugh.

Deeply bemused, he let go and ran for home.

Edgar beat him there. Johnny decided then the man had super magical powers.

"Would you stop?!" he shrieked.

Edgar opened the front door for Johnny and said nothing.

(WHAT OH GOD WHAT)

* * *

**Drabble Four: Demonride – The Lost Souls – 4:44** (Aha. Ha. Oh wow.)

Edgar was driving this time. They switched off occasionally, whenever Edgar became too tired to focus or Johnny too homicidal. Johnny had been on the verge of rear ending a nearby VW into oblivion, so Edgar decided it was time to clamber out of the backseat and take over.

"How are you doing?" he asked after a short amount of time had passed.

"How the hell are you driving?" Johnny replied nastily.

"E-excuse me?"

"Your glasses are completely fucked up. How can you see _anything?_"

Edgar raised his eyebrows at Johnny's sullen reflection in the rear view. "What, you think this is real?"

Johnny twitched. "Huh?"

He sighed. "We've been through this, Nny. Several times."

"I'd like it if you enlightened me again."

"Okay. Remember the whole killing me thing?"

"Yes..."

"Yeah. I'm still dead."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"I don't get it."

"What I mean is I think we're about to pull a Thelma and Louise."

"...Shit."

(WHAT THE FUCK I hate that movie.)

* * *

**Drabble Five: Soylent Green – Wumpscut - 7:14** (You have no idea how hard I'm giggling right now. NO IDEA.)

At first Johnny had been wary when Edgar had invited him to dinner. Who in their right mind would willingly have their own murderer in their _house_ let alone ask him what his favorite dish was. But why not, he decided. Why not. Nailbunny was always telling him to expand his social network.

Dinner would be easy.

"I didn't know you could cook."

Edgar smiled from his place at the stove, stirring the sauce with obvious expertise with his good hand. "You never asked."

"Well it never really came up in any of our conversations."

"Yes, that's true."

They chatted almost easily for the next quarter of an hour. Johnny was astonished at how... not excruciating Edgar made small talk. It was eerie. But then again, Johnny had never really tried to chat with a zombie.

"And here we are!" Edgar landed two steaming plates on the dining table. It looked _and _smelled delicious. Johnny decided against making this any kind of one night stand, if for nothing else the food. Johnny didn't know anything about cooking. He didn't know the difference between a steak knife or a fruit knife. He just knew where to stick the pointy end.

"This looks... great, Edgar."

"Well don't sound so surprised. Come on, I'm starving."

Edgar winced as he sat. The scars across his body still obviously stung quite badly. Which made sense, as Edgar had only risen from the dead two weeks ago.

Johnny tucked in, and was again surprised by the taste. "Wow! Edgar—wow!"

"You like it?"

"_Yes._ I survive primarily on junk food, remember."

"I know."

"So, what is it?"

"You sure you want to know?"

"Ha ha, funny. C'mon, what is it?"

"Soylent green."

"...what?"

Edgar laughed.

(WHY do I make Edgar so terrifying? Why? I don't see him like this. AT ALL.)

* * *

**Drabble Six: Another Know It All – Chevelle - 4:20** (I have NO idea where this could go.)

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's me. I need to borrow your chainsaw."

"What, again?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I'm anti-tree."

"Uh-huh."

"You know why. Just let me borrow it for a day or two."

"If you're thinking of doing what it sounds like you might be thinking of doing than I don't think I should let you do what you're thinking."

"Ow, Johnny, don't talk like that."

"Like what?"

"Never mind. Just, it's not what you think."

"I don't believe you."

Edgar swore, something he very rarely did. "Johnny!"

"I don't see the point, is all."

"You don't need to see the_ point,_ just let me borrow it!"

"I'd just like to know how you plan on borrowing it when your hands are bolted to the ground."

"..."

"You forgot, huh."

"I—you—FUCK! FUCK! GOD DAMNIT! FUCK LET ME GO JOHNNY LET ME--"

Johnny hung up.

(I don't even KNOW.)

* * *

**Drabble Seven: The Becoming – Nine Inch Nails – 5:31** (This'll be fun.)

"Mr. Vargas, what's going on?!"

"I don't know, just keep up!"

Edgar dragged Todd along, probably hurting the kid's shoulder horribly but there wasn't time to feel bad or try to remedy their position. They needed to get out of the city, _now._ Behind them but not nearly far away enough screams arose from the streets. Panic gripped the populace by the throat, looked it in it's collective eye, and then calmly ripped out it's larynx. Things were not good.

Vibrations, like the echoes of a deadly earthquake, rattled through their bones as they crossed the city line. A terrible screech, metal dragging across asphalt, a dim explosion.

In the distance, the screaming stopped. All around, the survivors paused in a horrified kind of wonder.

Without thinking, Edgar's free hand crawled towards the crucifix under his shirt, and knew it wouldn't do any good anyway.

Vibrations shook the ground even harder, even nearer, and they started running again. There was no defending, no taking a stand.

After all, this was Johnny.

In the end, Edgar knew there was no escape.

But he'd try, goddamn it.

He'd try.

(I got this horrible flash of Ursula from The Little Mermaid coupled with the Moose and then giving birth to some horrible tentacle-y monster Johnny. WUT.)

* * *

**Drabble Eight: Of Wolf and Man – Metallica – 4:18** (I DON'T KNOW WHERE THIS COULD POSSIBLY GO. I never listen to this song.)

"You're not honestly running _again_ are you?"

He didn't answer. It wasn't necessary. They both knew the outcome of this, but he wouldn't lay down and take it like an animal.

Tree branches whipped at his arms, the low hanging mist dampened his pant legs. His breath was ragged in his throat; a stitch burned his side like a knife wound. The knife wound in his other side felt almost inconsequential in comparison.

"I don't know why you even bother. This is just so tiresome."

Didn't listen. He didn't have the air to respond even if he dared.

A crack of a twig in front of him, and he veered sharply to the left, ran straight, then turned left again, then right three times, then dodged diagonally.

Every time, Edgar was waiting for him, his easy smile more terrifying than anything Johnny could conjure up in his most crazed of nightmares.

He ran until he couldn't any longer.

(WHY EDGAR WHY)

* * *

(Skipped a DJ Tiesto song as it lacked words.)

(Skipped an Assemblage 23 song as it also had no words.)

* * *

**Drabble Nine: You Make Me Cool – The Seatbelts – 3:11** (Again, I never listen to this song.)

Edgar stared into his amber reflection, unbroken by ice. He frowned, grabbed the glass, and sucked it's contents down. The drink seared his throat, clouded his mind, and he was okay with that. He'd drink the whole damn bar if it got Johnny out of his head.

Nngh. Not out yet.

Stupid, crazy bastard.

Why didn't he get it? Why couldn't Johnny realize he wanted _nothing_ to do with him? And yet Johnny still found reasons to "bump" into him and strike up horribly awkward relationships.

And he asked Edgar what was wrong.

The man adjusted his glasses, laughed bitterly, and ordered another drink.

(I've always seen Edgar eventually fleeing to the bottle because of Johnny. I don't know why.)

* * *

**Drabble Ten: Man Next Door – Massive Attack – 5:55** (Why is my shuffle using so many songs I've already put to Johnny?)

When Edgar first hired Todd he hadn't realized the time bomb he'd just planted in his own personal universe. He didn't realize until Johnny came to call on the boy one gray afternoon.

Hysteria and a great deal of knocking things over had ensued.

Eventually Johnny had left as quietly as he'd appeared, leaving Todd to fumble with the pieces of Edgar's brain scattered hither-and-yon and try to tape them back together.

It would not have surprised either of them if this analogy had in fact been real.

"How do you know him?" They'd asked, almost in unison.

An awkward silence.

"He killed me," said Edgar. "Several times."

"He's my neighbor," said Todd at the same time as Edgar.

Neither could decide which was worse.

They flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and hid in the back to talk. They stopped briefly to order take-out, and then again to pay for it. Other than that, the night was comprised of Dealing with Johnny, 101.

Neither of them did very well, they decided. Though Edgar's argument of "At least he hasn't killed you even once," did make Todd feel simultaneously better and worse.

They found comfort in numbers against Johnny's madness.

It was nice to know you weren't the only one affected.

(WOOO! I'm done! That was hard.)

* * *

Yeah. Ow. Edgar is one scary mo-fo, apparently. I don't even know. I don't even _know._


	3. ETHM

Doing the music meme again, but just to get into an ETHM mood. I want to do that contest at the EdgarVargas club over on dA, but my hands feel so uninspired. I can't draw, I can't write. I need to force life into some ideas. So here I am. At three o' clock in the morning. When I have work tomorrow. YES.

* * *

**Song One: Take The Long Road And Walk It – The Music – 5:43**

"Do you mind if I put some music on?" Edgar asked politely, gesturing to the old player in the corner. The woman only stared at him with bulging eyes, her mouth sewn shut. He assumed she wouldn't mind, and pressed PLAY.

The sweet, tinkling sound of a lonely piano filtered through the air. He closed his eyes, letting it wash over him. "Ahh, I do miss playing," he whispered, his scarred, broken fingers following along with the music. After a few minutes the piece ended and a new one begun. The pause between startled him back to reality.

"What was I...?" His eyes landed on the woman suspended from the ceiling. "Ah, yes." He walked over to her, gazing up into her white face. "Hello, Devi."

The woman twitched, clearly torn between wanting to scream at him and wanting to ask how in the hell he knew her name, but silent because of the heavy string stitched through her lips. He felt morbidly curious today. What did she want to say? So he reached for one of his smaller blades and cut her mouth free. She moaned, blood dripping down her chin, dripping onto his upturned face.

"Why?" she asked finally.

He smiled at her. "Johnny mentioned you once." He dropped the knife and picked up some incomprehensible torture device. "I wanted to meet you. This seemed the best way."

(I cheated and paused the song because I liked where this was going. This also has nothing to do with the song. Whee.)

**Song Two: Date Rape – Sublime – 3:37**

Tess glared sullenly from her dark corner of the club, nursing a strong drink. She didn't even know why she'd bothered coming out tonight. She always ended up alone, the laughingstock of all her old friends who wouldn't even look her in the face anymore. She almost didn't mind, sometimes. They were all so damn stupid.

But the alternative wasn't much better.

Someone sat down across from her. She jerked her head to look. A tall, thinnish Hispanic man with glasses and a goatee. It was too dark and smoky to tell for sure, but it looked like he had strange, crisscrossing tattoos across his rather severely angled face.

"Hello," he said pleasantly.

She stared at him. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Why?" Here it came, the retarded pick-up line.

"You've got that look."

"Excuse me?"

He leaned forward, the finger of his right hand massaging the knuckles of the left. "You don't look like an idiot or an asshole. You must have been one of the survivors. Your name is... Tess, right?"

"What are you talking about?" How the fuck did he know her name? Who WAS this guy anyway?

"Johnny C. He kidnapped you, right?"

"...What is this? Is this some kind of joke?"

"I would be some kind of sick bastard to joke like that about Nny." He extended his right hand. Closer, she realized that what she'd mistaken for tattoos were in fact brutal scars. "My name is Edgar. Edgar Vargas. Johnny killed me."

Her fingers twitched, automatically reaching to shake his hand but she forced it down. "_How_--"

"It's a long story." He let his hand fall as it had become clear she wasn't going to touch him. "Unfortunately, this isn't a meeting for pleasure. I've got a few people to call on still tonight."

"What, what the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

"Oh, didn't I say? I'm sorry." He laughed, smoothing his hair out of his eyes. "You see, They picked me because Nny took such a liking to me. I'm Johnny's... Well, I guess you could say I'm his clean-up crew."

Tess shook her head. This guy was crazy. Fucking i_insane._/i She didn't know how he knew all this, but she didn't want to stick around and ask. Anyone who'd rip themselves up that badly was obviously unhinged to a fantastic degree. She made to get up but a long arm shot out and grabbed her shoulder, the knotted fingers digging deep into the flesh. She gasped, too shocked to do anything else.

"I'm really very sorry," he said, "but I'm afraid I can't let you go."

(I paused this one too. Liked where it was going, wanted to see what I could do with it, but mostly just to laugh my ass off.)

(Skipped a Combichrist song. No lyrics, but such a good song.)

**Song Three: Who's Your Daddy – Benny Benassi – 7:18** (Oh god I don't think I can do this.)

It was funny. Ever since he had come back from the dead people seemed to pay more attention to him. People seemed to _like_ him. They consciously sought him out when previously it had been as if he was invisible. People wanted his opinion, his advice. Shit, people made smalltalk just to hear his voice. It didn't matter what he said. People fell in love with him at the first glimpse of his face out of the corner of their eyes.

At first he had been scared. He simply wasn't used to the attention. He had grown up expecting to live a life of general monasticism, perhaps even joining the priesthood when he was older and had done everything he'd felt he wanted to accomplish in the world. It had scared him, all these eyes and hands focused solely on him. Briefly he had wondered if these people were sick fetishists, going after him because of his "body art," compliments one Johnny C.

Then he'd realized that dying had woken something up in him. A switch had been flipped, and some hidden facet of his personality had come to life, making him irresistible. After a period of adjustment, he'd even started to enjoy himself.

And then it had gone all wrong.

Through his foolishness, through his arrogance, through his stupidity, through his drunkenness, someone had died. The hangover had erased the majority of that night, but he doubted he would ever forget the glazed eyes staring up at him from a growing pool of blood.

Johnny's eyes.

Enough time had passed for him to admit to himself that after the shock, he'd felt a thrill of pleasure, of revenge, of justice, maybe even divine retribution. No one else in the car called the police, and later when he'd brought that night up no one could remember what he was talking about. The event was never mentioned in the paper or on the news. He'd gotten away with it.

But things had stopped feeling right anymore. Now, it was all... incomplete. As if he'd started something that needed to be finished, wouldn't leave him alone until he did.

Somehow he'd found Johnny's house.

Somehow he'd gotten into the basement.

Somehow he'd picked up where Johnny had left off.

He could still be invisible when he wanted to.

(This took like half an hour because I had to make a goddamn orgy song into an ETHM thingy only vaguely alluding to sex. That and I laughed. SO HARD. Just kept thinking of Scriabin. HA.)

**Song Four: In My Memory – DJ Tiesto – 6:06**

He felt curiously nostalgic lately. He kept thinking about that summer, after he'd come back from Heaven. He kept thinking about Johnny. He kept thinking.

Could he have done it differently? Did it really have to end the way it did?

He couldn't decide. Either way, he couldn't change the past, so it didn't really matter.

He'd like their talks up on the hill best, where no one could bother them. Nothing ever happened. They just talked, for hours, until the sun had long since risen and was glaring into their eyes and sometimes even then they'd just retreat into the car, sometimes Johnny's, sometimes his own, and keep talking.

He wished he could remember what they'd spoken of as well as he could remember Johnny's face. So expressive. Johnny could never hide anything from him.

In life, and in death too.

(Apparently ETHM likes to kill JTHM. I LOVE IT.)

**Song Five: Stop a Bullet – Black Light Burns – 3:37**

Edgar wiped his hands on a spare towel, not that it did much good. His hands always stayed red no matter how much he scrubbed them. He really needed to invest in some disposable gloves.

"Hey."

He turned to see Johnny descending down the stairs. "Oh, hi. Where were you?"

"Felt like a walk. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing. Just found someone who looked liked they'd be worth it."

Johnny leaned in to get a better look at the face twisted by fear even in death. "Oh? What'd she do?"

"You tell me."

"What?" Johnny dropped his freezy to catch the book suddenly thrown his way. It landed without spilling. "H-hey! This is my die-ary!"

"I know."

"What the hell were you doing with--"

"I felt like something to read but the car wouldn't start again. It was there. You write about her all the time. It's kind of sickening."

It took Johnny a moment to catch on, his mouth half-open and his forehead crinkled. Then it clicked, and his face fell apart. "Y-you didn't. _Tell me_ you didn't do it."

Edgar took off his glasses so he could wash his face with cold water from the spigot. "Well obviously I did. That's her, isn't it? Unless she's got an identical twin sister she didn't tell you about."

Johnny dropped his die-ary and ran to Devi's mutilated corpse, screaming incomprehensible words. Shook her, gripped her face, tried to pour her half-liquidated bowels back inside her. Edgar cleaned his glasses, put them on again, and watched the scene impassively.

Finally Johnny seemed to accept the fact that Devi would not be getting up ever again. He rounded on Edgar. "**WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?! HOW THE HELL COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? YOU **_**SICK**_** FUCKING--**"

Edgar quietly aimed the gun at Johnny's face, pointblank. Johnny twitched and his voice choked, his face a myriad of conflicting emotions. "Shut up."

"I--"

"Shut up."

Johnny shut up.

"I'm done. I don't want to see you ever again. I don't care if it's an accident. If I see your face, if I glimpse you out of the corner of my eyes, I'll destroy everything good that's still left in your life. _I'm done with you._"

Tears were beginning to spill from Johnny's eyes. "_I'll kill you,_" he managed in a mangled whisper, his arms hugging her body close.

Edgar laughed. "As if you could?" He dropped the gun on the table and walked out of the room. "I think I'll stop by Squee's house before I go. Good-bye, Nny."

(A continuation of the first one? What the f! I listened to this one like six times 'cause I wanted to see what'd happen.)

(Skipped a DDR song.)

**Song Six: In Fate's Hands – Red Jumpsuit Apparatus – 3:29**

It had come to him a year ago, in the New Year's crowd. A sudden realization, an epiphany, if you will.

He remembered turning to look at the others, at Devi, at Todd, at all his friends gathered close to celebrate the start of a new slate. They were all so happy, so unconcerned about the future, living for the present and nothing else. They hadn't realized.

No one else had felt it that night.

The fireworks exploded high above, blinding streams of color bleeding across his eyes. He'd stared, unblinking, into the finale, his ears throbbing with the delayed sound waves. It had been beautiful. He'd felt clean for the first time in years. As if his crimes were at last absolved. He'd felt that, maybe, if he told the others, they wouldn't turn from him in horror, wouldn't scream, wouldn't treat him as they had treated Johnny.

And then the earthquake had struck.

In a great sweep, thousands of human lives were extinguished as skyscrapers collapsed, the ground opened up, and fires seared across the city. Out of all the people who'd been at the Square, Edgar had been the only survivor. Later, at the hospital, Edgar had woken to find Johnny at his bedside, staring peacefully out the window. He must have made a noise, for Johnny's eyebrows twitched and he looked down at him.

"You're awake," Johnny had said.

"Where...?" There were so many questions. He didn't know where to begin.

"Ssh, it's alright." After a second of hesitation, Johnny placed his hand on Edgar's. It felt cool even through the bandages. "That was a neat trick though. How'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

Johnny stared at him. "The earthquake. That was you, wasn't it? It had to be. It had that Edgar flair of your's written all over it. How'd you do—Edgar? Edgar! _Edgar!_"

(Um. Sure. Secretly, Edgar is a Super Saiyan.)

**Song Seven: Other Light – Finger Eleven – 2:50**

"I've got something I need to tell you."

"Not now, Edgar. I'm in the zone."

He watched Devi paint. It was coming along well.

"It's kind of important."

"Not _now_. This is the best I've painted in weeks."

He opened his mouth to try again, then closed it. "Later, then?"

"Sure. Fine, whatever."

Edgar closed the door behind him and went to wash the blood from his hands.

(Kind of phail, yes?)

**Song Eight: Straight Lines – Silverchair – 4:16**

Edgar found respite only when he played his piano. Only then did he feel whole again, normal. Like he could finally breathe. It would probably be better if his hands weren't so ruined.

Why _that_ machine? Why did Johnny have to kill him in the one machine that completely obliterated his hands? It was like the universe was out to get him. And of course, thanks to the ineptitude of Heaven, he'd been revived _sans_ the ring finger of his left hand. That combination made for wonderful playing indeed.

Sarcasm.

But despite his handicaps, despite the guilt that burned the names of his victims into his soul so he could never forget them, he could play. He played and he played and he played. He played until his ruined hands cramped, resembling claws, and the pain became too severe to ignore.

And by that time his Wall probably needed painting anyway. It worked.

(Poor Edgar.)

**Song Nine: A Place for My Head – Link Park – 3:04** (I forgot I had this band on here, HA. Gawd, emo musics ahoy.)

He sat on a park bench, eying the moon with a disinterested gaze. The night was beautiful, but he couldn't pay attention to it. He was waiting for someone to walk by. Anyone really, didn't matter. He just needed someone to feed his Wall with.

Idly he wondered how Johnny had done it for three years. He'd only been doing it a few months and now he was pretty sure he knew what Hell was like. Killing another human had taken some getting used to. He didn't think he was used to it yet. Maybe just blocking out the horror a part of him still felt. But that was nothing to his Wall always, _always_ feeding on him, absorbing every last bit of him at a pace so slow it could be described as brutal, even agonizing.

Maybe Johnny hadn't known how to feel for it when he'd been under the System.

Edgar envied him.

(These are getting progressively shorter because I am TIRED.)

**Song Ten: Tug-O-War – Chevelle – 4:32** (What's with all these songs that make me think of the goddam Wall srsly.)

Edgar Vargas slit the youth's throat and bled him out into the already half-full trough. That should do for now, should appease It's thirst.

He left the body where it hung and went to business.

Hours later, after a long, burning shower and some food, he sat down at his piano. A fine layer of dust covered the keys. He hadn't tried this in some time. He'd been taking care of his Wall, he'd been doing everything It required and then some. Shouldn't he get something in return? Just a little of his creativity, his inspiration, his music?

He blew the dust off, rubbed at a curious stain on the seventy-third key just hard enough to remove it, not to inadvertently cause the hammer to strike. He wanted this to be perfect.

Was everything ready?

As ready as he could get it. Couldn't tell how this would turn out. He never could. Slowly, with exaggerated care, he let his scarred fingers rest against the keys. His thoughts calmed, his body relaxed, everything smooth. Something simple first. A scale. Concert C, to make it ridiculously simple.

C D E F G D-- no.

C D E F G A B C. Back down again. C B A G F E D C.

There. That wasn't so hard. He tried a few more scales, then ventured into some more complex warm-ups. A few slip-ups, his fingers rusty, but he soon found his old rhythm.

He smiled. A harder piece now. He selected one of his favorites, slow and poignant and full of meaning if you knew how to listen. He got through five measures before his hand cramped and he had to take care of that.

Tried again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He slammed his hands against the keys, the discordant, violent sound filling his apartment. Let his head rest against the wood and he stared down at the ivory rectangles that mocked him so. "Please?" he whispered.

No.

"I--"

The floor hummed. His Wall was hungry again.

Edgar sighed and sat there a minute longer. All he wanted was to get through one piece. Just one. And It wouldn't give him even that.

He knew what Johnny meant now. Too little too late.

(I feel sad now. By-the-by, he was totally trying to play Illusion, by VNV Nation.)

* * *

The birds started singing at 5:26 a.m. This would have been SO much easier if my shuffle wasn't phail. A.N.


	4. EdgarDevi

Written for... somebody on dA. Wish I could remember who. EdgarxDevi drabbles.

1. ZOMBIE – THE CRANBERRIES

So.

He knew Johnny.

That was bad.

He had been killed by Johnny.

That was… worse?

She _told_ Tenna that her zombie-date story wasn't crazy. Proof of zombies existed right fucking here, didn't it?

Except, well, he didn't seem too eager to rip her skull open and feast on her damaged brain matter. This was a good thing, as she had used the last of her mace on some hobo who'd gotten too grabby after she'd tossed a fiver his way. This was also weird.

The not-brain-eating, not the creepy hobo. That was just part of living downtown.

Had bad horror movies been lying to her all this time? Maybe.

After-reluctantly-talking with the dead-now-kind-of-alive-again man, she decided he was just too damn _nice_ to be a brain-lusting roamer. Which again, was weird. She'd just come to terms with the idea that nice had died somewhere in her parents' generation amid all the pot and heroin and anti-Americanism and bellbottoms, and yet here was nice, buying her dinner at a nice restaurant, wearing nice clothes and a nice expression. An I-actually-am-treating-you-as-a-person-not-a-possible-sex-doll kind of nice.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"I'm not big on liquor."

His grimacing-scar-smile grew bigger. "All the better then."

-

2. GUITAR – LADY SOVEREIGN

"Does it hurt?"

He shrugged. "Not anymore, no. When I first, um, woke up, yeah. _God_ yes."

"So what happened to your finger?"

"Rats."

"Eeugh."

"Very. I think they got into some of my internal organs too."

"I don't think I want to know."

He watched her draw for a time, a strangely hungry look on his face. Aha. So he did have some authentic zombie qualities. Rather than brains, however, he seemed to go drooly for… art?

Weird.

"Can you? Draw?"

He laughed. "Oh god, you don't even want to see me try. Even when I still had all my fingers…" he trailed off, his lips thin, his good hand rubbing the ruin of the other. "I was damn good at piano though."

Was. Ouch.

-

3. O GREEN WORLD – GORILLAZ

Spring was… interesting in the city. Always had been. For one thing, all the rain really cleaned out the air, so instead of nailing your windows shut in a vain attempt to block out the stench, you could actually dare to let some _fresh_ air into your apartment. The whole population seemed to go mad in the spring, and Devi wasn't sure if she could blame that on animal instincts, the various New Years parties going on depending what week you were going through the foreign corners of town, or the bad rap Aries got, or something else entirely. Whatever it was, Devi knew she wasn't exempt. Maybe she wasn't slavering for a good roll in the sheets, but /idamn/i if she didn't want something new.

Where _was_ Edgar anyway?

-

4. M79 – VAMPIRE WEEKEND

"Dancing?"

"Why not?"

"Would you believe me if I had two left feet?" He smiled. "Literally?"

"Almost, but that wouldn't exempt you, greeny. I wanna dance, so let's hop to it."

"We're hopping now? Goodness, what one misses when you're lying shredded in a basement."

She made a face and turned the music up. "Do me a favor."

"Oh?"

She punched him in the chest, on a knot of thick-_tender_-scar tissue. Over his yelp, she said with a grin, "Shut the fuck up and dance."

Rubbing his chest and looking decidedly unwilling to "hop," he nevertheless stood to his full wow-you-are-fucking-tall height-her words, not his-and held out his hands. "Shall we?"

He looked tired. Maybe that was just the slight case of partial mummification talking. Maybe not.

"What, you wanna waltz?"

"Call me old-fashioned. I dare you."

"You're old-fashioned."

-

5. GENESIS – VNV NATION

They watched mankind's first steps on Mars with something slightly more attentive than total boredom. Edgar's face was inscrutable, and as usual, the scarring made it impossible for Devi to properly read him anyway. But his body seemed oddly stiff, and he certainly _seemed_ a few million light-years away from the greatest moment in space exploration since… whatever the last greatest moment had been.

"Hey."

"Oats."

"Haha, you're so funny."

"Yes."

"Serious face, Edgar. I have a random and probably stupid question."

"Ooh, my favorite kind."

He was being uncharacteristically biting in his conversation. Maybe the brain-hunger was finally getting to him? Devi scooted a little farther from him on the couch.

"Do you breathe?"

"Um, yes?"

"But when we went swimming last week you stayed underwater for like ten fucking minutes."

"Yes…"

"What, are you that awesome you can turn your lungs on and off?"

He shrugged, and under the excited crackling of distant men making more history for children to groan over in school, she could hear his stitching creak. It was always an unsettling sound. "I'm still figuring this out. How about I get back to you on that after I experiment trying to drown myself in the kitchen sink tonight?"

"Ha."

" Where are you going with this?"

"Just wondering."

"I don't like that look."

"Just wondering if I could vault you into the vacuum of space and see if your head exploded or not."

"…I see."

"Hey, what's that face for?"

"You-nothing."

She rounded on him, all heavy lipstick and dyed hair too close to his milky eyes. "Don't start to say something and change your mind halfway through! What? What's going through that zombie brain of yours?"

"You… won't like it?"

"I don't like a lot of things. This is not news, Edgar."

He sighed. "You sounded a lot like him. That's all."

Edgar watched the rest of the Mars Landing by himself.

-

6. LOSE CONTROL – WALDO'S PEOPLE

"Sickness, huh?"

She punched him arm. "Shut up. I'm an artist, not a writer. The need to name brain-eating head voices does not happen often for visual people, okay? It's usually just really weird dreams."

"I certainly hope it doesn't. Then again, it might explain a few galleries I've paid too damn much for." He studied the pair of blood-crusted screws, and the shaky napkin doodle of a lumpy doll thing with scythe legs. "How the hell did it walk on those things?"

"Edgar. It was a hallucination."

"That could _bleed_, Devi." He pointed at the screws.

She rolled her eyes. "Can we just say 'fuck you' to physics for like, five minutes?"

"As if I haven't committed my life to flipping the bird to science as it is." He made a face. "After-life. Second life. Whatever, you know what I mean."  
"Uh-huh." Devi was too busy scratching doodle-Sickness out of existence to debate the semantics of life/afterlife with a zombie. For good measure, she shredded the napkin, then studied it. "Do you have any matches?"

Edgar's eyebrows rose as much as the scar tissue would allow. "Wow, you really are scared of it."

She almost seemed to bare her teeth at him. "She fucking tried to eat my creativity! She almost got it too. If I hadn't gutted her-um." Devi's face suddenly expressed a dire need for a time machine. "That… came out wrong."

"You gutted a hallucination, huh?"

"Fuck you, don't look so smug."

Edgar ordered another round of coffee, and demanded-in his own way-the whole story.

-

(Skipped a couple songs that weren't in English/couldn't understand the lyrics of.)

-

7 FLAMES – VAST

She found a shoebox of dusty CDs in the back of the closet with dates going back to the mid-80s in Edgar's small, stiff handwriting. Her interest peaked, she secreted them out of his apartment and, in the solitude of her own, began to listen to them.

Every CD was a recording of a piano, often accompanied, often an accompaniment, often alone, always played by Edgar Vargas. And all but the oldest CDs are… beautiful. Even those first few years of awkward, stumbling fingers seem to bleed intensity out of the speakers. He didn't look the part of an artist, even in pictures where he'd still had a pulse, but God.

_God._

She lay on the floor for hours, just… listening. Tenna called and was ignored. The neighbor yelled through the door to turn that shit down and was ignored. The mailman came and went and the check she'd been waiting on pins and needles for was ignored. All else seemed… excessive. Superfluous, when compared to such ability. Who could have known?

Music had never made her cry before.

She appeared at his door the next day, a list of viable music stores in hand. "You're going to play again," she said. Ordered. Begged. She wasn't even sure. Her heart would not stop twitching in her chest. She wondered if this dizziness, this tingling of her limbs, was comparable to a heart attack. It didn't hurt, but it scared her.

She wanted more.

-

8 I WAS A LANDSCAPE IN YOUR DREAM – OF MONTREAL

"What kind of comedy is this?"

She shrugged. "Tenna said it was funny."

"Well no wonder it isn't."

"Hey, give it a minute. I bet someone gets eaten by a swarm of crabs in the next five minutes."

"Death by a swarm of crabs is funny?"

"It can be?"

"Do crabs even swarm?"

"Fuck you, like you know what it's called."

"It's called looking it up."

She looked around overdramatically, going so far as to lift up the couch cushion and peering underneath. "Oh my goodness, what a shock! You don't _have_ a computer, dipshit."

He pointed at his many bookshelves. "Have you forgotten what a dictionary is?"

She grimaced. "No thank you. Oh hey!"

"What?"

"Told ya. Swarm of crabs."

"Um. That is graphic. Really graphic." Edgar almost looked sick, which was an accomplishment for him.

"Hey, they're on fire now!"

Devi watched the rest of the National Geographic documentary by herself.

-

(Skipped a song without lyrics.)

-

(Skipped a Bjork song because it was too… yeah.)

-

9 NEVER – FLO RIDA

Edgar slammed his hands down against the keys and Devi almost knocked half her paints over in alarm. She cursed and ran out the doorway of her art room, dripping green all across the carpet. There in the living room lay the electric keyboard, discarded on the table, and Edgar sat on the couch, his mangled hands cradling his head.

"I can't do it," he said in a whisper.

"Bullshit." Devi was unsympathetic.

He raised his head to look at her, a haunted expression twisting his face. He stood and thrust his hands in her face. "They won't work! I try and play one thing and my fingers do something else entirely! They cramp up if I try too long, and-and-And I don't even have enough fingers to PLAY a piano, Devi!" He let his hands fall, and repeated himself. "I can't do it."

Devi was unimpressed.

"Edgar, there is a fine line between honest-to-God not being able to do something, and just being a fucking coward. I've seen some crazy shit-" She opted not to elaborate on said shit, "-and so far I've gotten through all of it. I've _beaten_ all of it." She, in turn, thrust her hands in his face. Scars, far smaller yet striking against her white skin, defaced her palms. "Pain is temporary, Edgar. Do you really want all that music to just sit and rot in that zombie brain?"

His throat clicked.

-

10 JIGSAW – LADY SOVEREIGN

So.

He was a zombie.

This was weird.

This would also never go anywhere sexually. Just… Eeugh.

But that was okay. Because she didn't _need_ to jump his bones. This was a relationship based on A) a mutual "friend," haha no and B) the need for someone who could _understand_.

Understand what, she doubted either of them quite knew. Whatever it was, some unconscious part of themselves knew what the fuck was going on even if the frontal lobes were a little late on the update, and that worked.

She didn't love easy. Plus, even though they never discussed it either way, Devi had a sneaking suspicion that Edgar was gay. Good for him. Maybe he'd find a zombie with similar interests one day and have a fabulous life of brain-sucking and curtain-picking with him. It.

Ugh, zombie semantics.

In the meantime, however, things were good. If she dared to think it, things were going _very_ good.

Edgar was playing again. His ability was nowhere near where it had been before his unfortunate shredding incident, but he was progressing. Fast. You almost couldn't tell he was one finger short of a set these days.

In her spare time, which was rare now, she hunted for a piano. A real one, the kind that took up an ass ton of space and, if properly persuaded, could bring a nation to lift its head in wonder. She hadn't asked what had happened to his old one. Even she couldn't be that tasteless.

In the photographs, living!Edgar hadn't lived in such a shitty apartment.

Money was good these days. Better than ever, in fact. Pianos were expensive motherfuckers, but she could afford this, if she followed her penny pinching father's example for a time.

This wasn't love, but it was something. Something more than what she had had with any guy, ever. She refused to lose this.

So what if he was a zombie? Let's talk about _interesting_.

-

7Apr10


End file.
